


Bewitching

by orphan_account



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: College Frank, First Time, Frank loves Tim, M/M, Requited Love, Teasing, Temper Issues, The Sentinel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is caught staring wistfully at Tim.  How do the two deal with the resulting teasing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bewitching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youmakeme_sikkelsen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmakeme_sikkelsen/gifts).



“Frank?”

Underwood didn’t blink. He was too busy staring at Tim and doodling – a picture of Alexander the Great (if you could call that doodling). On Bucephalus, no less. The horse, with his white starred head, was coming out better than Alexander, who Frank was modelling after Tim, whose finely wrought, almost delicate features conveyed an inexplicable aura of strength and courage, not to mention a calmness Frank desperately needed to emulate – too often did he lose his temper, a dangerous thing if he wanted to complete his education at the Sentinel. One more outburst and he was out, forfeiting his grand dreams.

“Frank!”

It was a Saturday afternoon, one of the few stretches of time a plebe could call his own at the military college and Frank, Tim and the other two Riflemen, Dave and Mark, were taking advantage of the privacy of a gazebo in the back marching grounds, near the edge of the forest reserve that surrounded the school. The acoustics there, beneath the wooden rafters were nearly as good as the crawl space beneath the library, with the addition of a fine breeze and bright sunlight. Frank had his notebook of songs and a pen, ignoring the lighthearted gossip. He's too busy staring at Tim, who was now shaking him by the elbow.

“Frank Underwood, Earth’s calling!” laughed Frank’s handsome roommate. Blushing, Frank dropped his pen and quickly turned the page but not before Tim got a good look; his forehead furrowing thoughtfully at Frank’s drawing.

“He’s in looove!” gushed Dave, batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands together above his heart. Mark laughed, adding the sing-song melody: “Frank and Tim, Sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G!”

That’s as far as Mark gets before Frank rears up, making a fist and pulling it back to smash his friend’s nose.

“No!” shouted Tim, stumbling between Frank and the other Riflemen. “Frank, don’t!”

There was a moment, just a moment when Frank had the clarity to consider his options; this time choosing flight over fight. He dropped his notebook and ran.

“You fucking assholes!” Tim spat, kicking at both friends as they sat, dumbfounded. All they did was give Frank a little teasing. Not that it was serious or anything – at least that’s how they saw it. But one look at Tim’s stormy face had them thinking otherwise, much to their chagrin. “You know he’s on probation and there you go, getting him all riled up! Don’t think I don’t know your secrets : Mark, how you keep a bottles of Jack Daniels in your spare boots – how you can’t sleep without taking a stiff drink or three. And Dave, what is Sgt. Smitt doing, sneaking in your room at night? Inspecting your bunk or something more personal.” Tim doesn't bother to look back to see how his words affect them. For now, all he cares about is Frank.

*

There's a clearing, half-way up the mountain behind the college, a spot that only Tim knew about. Deep in a ring of blackberry brambles and kingly fir trees, it was almost invisible to anyone walking the nearby trail. It’s where Frank goes and where Tim follows.

Sitting on a jut of granite, Frank’s cradling his right hand; the knuckles are scraped raw and fingers already swelling to near ludicrous dimensions. Tim sees, straight off, that the sticky bark of the tree nearest his best friend is marred.

“Wanna punch me?” he asks, setting down on the ground next to Frank. “I’m a lot softer.”

Frank stares for a minute, then begins to laugh, his body relaxing against Tim’s until his head’s on the smaller classmate’s shoulder. Tim laughs, too.

“Not soft,” Frank wheezes, patting Tim’s arm. “You’re in better shape than any of ‘em.”

“But not as tough as you,” replies Tim admiringly, hugging Frank closer. No one can see or hear them. “I thought it’d be better to hit a tree than to hit those two knuckleheads,”

Frank sighs, staring at his injured hand. “Think I broke something.”

“I’m real glad,” Tim replies, chuckling at Frank’s look of reproach. “No, you idiot. Not glad you broke your hand, glad you didn’t beat the snot out of those two.” His face suddenly shifts, growing serious as he leans closer, his nose just an inch from Frank’s. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, Frank.” Then Tim completes the circuit, pressing his lips against his friends. They hold together, not moving, not until Frank pulls back.

“They were right, back there. Tim, you mean the world to me. I, l…”

Tim stops him with another kiss, moist this time, nudging Frank’s lips until they part and make it real. Tim’s the one to pull away this time. “Frank, don’t say it. Don’t say you love me. I’m engaged to marry Beth once I graduate. I’m straight!”

Frank reaches for the burgeoning mound beneath Tim’s zipper, mapping his friend’s erection with a trembling hand. “I’m straight, too. Or as straight as I need to be,” he sighs. “And it looks like you’re not…uninterested.” An understatement – Frank’s specialty. “What we have, it’s special, isn’t it?” Frank continues, nearly begging.

“Damned if it isn’t,” pants Tim, daring to slide his tongue along the side of Frank’s neck, collecting salty sweat and the bewitching scent of his skin. “While we’re here, Frank. At school. Afterwards, we go our own ways, so help me God!”

“Agreed,” vows Frank and Tim’s hips start twitching forward, bumping against the warmth of Frank’s hand. He doesn’t stop Frank from kissing him again. Tim doesn’t stop anything else Frank wants to do because, Hell, he wants it, too.


End file.
